


SvS

by cornwallace



Category: Sonic the Hedgehog - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:01:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26017732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cornwallace/pseuds/cornwallace
Summary: Must we keep going through this?
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

**Broken**  
He’s dead. His head destroyed, and his body limp on the other side of the room, behind this table. It’s hard to believe that could have happened to me. Our chances were equal. Exactly the same. A light bulb hangs from a string, and shadows drift over his broken form. He fades in and out of sight. It’s actually kind of beautiful.  
In an artistic sort of way.  
It happened so suddenly, it still comes as a shock to me. Breathing heavily, and standing before the table. There is a metal cover over the light bulb. I know, because it hit my head when the action made me jump. The loud noise accompanied by his death. I'm still amazed. My gloved hand touches my forehead, and blood stains the fingertips.  
What happened here?  
None of this matters. Pick my prize off the table, and try to locate the door. It’s unbelievably dark in here. The only things in sight are the table, and its close surroundings. None of this will have mattered soon enough.  
Ascend the dark staircase, towards the light that beams through the cracks of the cellar door. Only when I put my hand on it, push it open, and feel the lights warmth wash over me do I decide what really happened.  
I’m alive. I made it. It’s all over, and everything is right. Somehow things feel incomplete, though. Like something is missing, a very important piece, but it can’t be seen. It’s over, whatever it was. Don’t see any holes in my plan. Can’t possibly imagine what could go wrong, but something simply doesn’t feel right.  
What could it be?


	2. Chapter 2

**Bail**  
Brace myself, and form my body into a ball. Crash through the clear obstacle standing in the way. Shatter, and a loud cracking noise as glass cuts through me.  
All of me.  
Falling down surrounded by glass, the ground advancing quickly towards me. Perhaps this was a bad idea.  
In retrospect, I should have just snuffed it. This whole life thing is far too complicated. None of it makes any logical sense. The masses are dumb, and ready to gobble up endless amounts of bullshit that’s laid before them. They enjoy it, in fact.  
They love it.  
They crave it.  
The landing was the worst part. The window had formed a pallet of glass shards for me to land on. Lay here, face first on the ground, glass stuck in various places of my body from head to toe.  
Try to get up, but it’s the most painful thing I’ve ever tried to do. My hands burn, as I use them to try and force myself up. Glass pushing deeper, and deeper passed my thin layer of skin.  
Too much.  
Dead weight, and fall back onto the glass.  
Face is sent back into the pile. Blood and pink shards surround me.  
Who would have thought this would be my end? In fact, I was positive that the cellar would be my eternal crypt, but no. Why did I survive?  
Why did all of this happen?  
Why was my life prolonged, so I could be put through all of this?  
The chaos emerald, the competition.  
All of this was bullshit.  
All Lies. I had all but one, and so close to my goal.  
So close to escape.  
So close to sanctuary.  
So close to salvation.  
It’s very difficult to breath. In fact, I can’t do it at the moment. Sucking in a gulp of air every thirty seconds or so. That fall did something.  
Broke something.  
The approaching footsteps of what I assume to be police officers  
can be heard in the distance. The crunching of glass all around me seems so distant.  
So muffled.  
So unreal.  
The pain is real, though. Definitely real.  
Just kill me, officer. Just blow my brains out. I’m still a threat, officer. I could kill you. Could kill you all if you don’t stop me. You’ll just have to kill me.  
Come on, kill me.  
Shoot me in the head!  
KILL ME!  
JUST FUCKING DO IT!  
Please end this! Just end it all now. Let me rest, let me find peace. The mobians around me ignore my pleas. They’re distracted by each other.  
Talking to one another. Try to listen, but it’s far too mumbled. Feebly reach foreword, and grab the closest mans leg.  
Try to attack.  
Try to kill.  
Try to be killed.  
Please.  
He walks off, wrenching his leg free of my grasp. I doubt he even noticed. Sirens sound in the distance.  
Not police sirens.  
Ambulance sirens.  
Oh, god.  
Just let me die.  
-  
Laying on a gurney in the back of the emergency vehicle. The dog in blue scrubs sitting above my head tries to tell me that everything is going to be okay. He smiles weakly, trying to falsely inspire confidence in me. Breathing heavily, I finally manage to speak once more.  
Kill me.  
He ignores it. Fucking asshole.  
Please.  
He shakes his head, and turns his gaze away. He can’t even make eye contact. Why can’t you turn, and face me?  
My life is over, I tell him.  
“Actually, you’ve been given a second chance at it.”  
Ha! That’s a laugh! What an answer! Everything I have worked so hard for is gone, and my adversary continues to ruin my life, even after death. Just kill me, you fucking pussy.  
He takes an electronic device out of the pocket on the front of his shirt. A wire leads to a tiny set of headphones, which the then proceeds to place in his ears. Blocking the world out. He fiddles with the device until sound can be heard from my position.  
Blocking me out.  
Apparently he doesn’t want to talk to me anymore. God, I just want this all to end. My prolonged existence only brings more suffering to myself and others.  
Nothing I can do now. Just lay back, and hold my breath. Hopefully I will pass out before too long.


	3. Chapter 3

**Click**  
Faker.  
The only light in this room shines from a light bulb, dangling above us on a string. It sways gently back an forth, making my adversaries face disappear, and remerge from the darkness. Very dimly lit.  
Stare into my imposters eyes. You faker.  
You doppelganger.  
A new light erupts across from the tiny circular table. A spark, the glow of the cherry, and my adversary sucks the ashes of the ignited tobacco deep into his lungs.  
He exhales loudly, blowing smoke in my direction.  
He’s nervous, it’s easy to tell from the worried expression on his face. He does not want to do this. This makes me feel wonderful inside.  
Whenever you’re ready.  
He sighs, waving off my impatience. He knows I’m only doing it to antagonize him. Get under his skin. There’s no real rush, as we have the rest of our lives.  
Three objects lay on the table, all three essential to my plan. It only seemed to give him some sort of fair chance. We could go on fighting forever. We are equal, he and I. We would get nowhere with such actions. This is a sure fire way to end it for one of us. It has to be done this way.  
The first object is the tool, a .45 magnum. Next to it sits the fuel, a hallowed tip bullet. The third item is the bait. A simple key. The key isn’t what he’s after, but what's waiting for him in the storage facility the key unlocks.  
The ultimate life form has no use for such things.  
I just want to see this superhero prick die.  
We sit in silence, and enjoy the short period of peace that this game has allowed us. Well, sort of. He smothers his cigarette out on the surface of the wooden table. Breathing out the last ashes remaining from his beloved vacation, he lets me know he is ready.  
Excellent.  
Take the honors, and pick the revolver up. Pull the release, and the wheel falls out of its place. Slide the round into its place, and lock the ammunition chamber back into the gun. Spin the wheel.  
Round and round she goes, and where she stops determines our fate. The door has opened now, and there is no going back. Passed the point of no return. Bring the gun up to my head, pressing the barrel against the side of my face. Smile as broadly as possible as I stare into the eyes of my enemy. Breathe in deeply as my finger squeezes the trigger.  
Click.  
Exhale.  
So far, I’m winning. Turn the large gun around in my hand, and hand him the butt of the gun. Flash him another toothy grin.  
It pisses him off.  
It’s what I live for.  
He picks the gun up, his hand trembling wildly.  
He points the gun up to his head, the barrel resting on the bottom of his chin. He closes his eyes tightly, and the smile stretches even bigger across my face.  
Go on, I say. Do it. Like you have some balls or something.  
He grimaces, gritting his teeth, and breathing heavily. He pulls the trigger.  
Click.  
Fucking Faker.  
His repulsive existence only mocks mine, and I would do anything to just snuff it out.  
It makes me sick, that natural selection deemed this cocky little bastard to go on breathing my air. Sharing my land and space with me.  
When the gun clicked, he yelped. This makes me laugh to myself.  
He has his arrogant expression, painted on his dumb face again. He sets the pistol on my side of the table.  
Fuck.  
My turn again.  
It isn’t death that frightens me. It’s the possibility of losing. That can not happen. It simply won’t be tolerated.  
Pick the gun up, and once again bury the cold metal into my temple. Smile at my silly little adversary. Pictures, and moments flash before my eyes, and the trigger is pulled. Deep breath.  
Click.  
Breathe out.  
Exhilaration overwhelms me. My heart beats profoundly, and the gun is once more placed on the table, and it slides over to my adversary.  
He stalls, staring intently at the gun on the table. His fear fogs around him, in a volatile cloud. The end is near. Find myself excited as he picks up the gun. He goes through the motions once more. The barrel rests under his chin. The bang already rings through my ears, and the bullet forcing it’s way from it’s prison, mushrooming out tear through his head, taking away everything that makes up his head. Destroying both brain and skull, his head becomes a mess of blood stained matter. His head implodes, and smoke drifts up from what’s left of his head.  
Just wishful thinking.  
Back to reality.  
Nothing can beat my anticipation, as he grits his teeth, and pulls the trigger.  
Click.  
Fate presents itself. It’s down to that old, worn out cliche. One last chamber for me, and one last chamber for him. My heart’s racing even faster than before, and my hand reaches for the gun on the center of the table.  
Inhale.  
The thought of laughing in his face after the satisfying click presents itself gives me courage. Never break eye contact as the barrel touches my head.  
A lifetime of rivalry, taught to hate this imposter since my conception. My hatred for the fucker in the seat across from me exceeds that of anything else in the known universe. It increases with his every breath. The air is humid, and thick. My breathing is amplified, and for the first time it can be heard by me.  
It gets on my nerves but it can’t be helped.  
“Hurry up” he tells me. That stupid, smug, arrogant expression ever present of his face. The urge to smash it in comes over me. That look just needs to be destroyed.  
Obliterated.  
Memories rushing me, almost knocking me back like an avalanche.  
End this now.  
Pull the trigger.  
Bang.  
Fuck.  
Game over.


	4. Chapter 4

**Box**  
The silver key slides into its bronze home, and things click as it's turned. The padlock pops open. Pull the key out, and discard the metal device on the ground. Slide the garage door up to see an almost entirely empty storage space. Save for one small wooden box in the center of the storage facility.  
My prize.  
My salvation.  
My immortality.  
Kneel before the little brown box. This has been dragged out for far too long. I have been awaiting this day for many a year.  
Place my hand on the lid, and pull up. The entire box comes with it.  
What?  
Another lock?  
Mother fucker.  
 **MOTHER FUCKER!!**  
Punt the box, and it smashes against the back wall. Stomp on the cracked side. The entire thing crumbles into a splintered mess.  
Sift through the pieces of wood to find the objects two objects sitting in the pile of destruction.  
A slip of paper and a pink, plastic emerald.  
Shadow, you wretched bastard.  
The plastic emerald breaks into two pieces against the metal wall. Pick the paper up off the floor.  
What have you done?  
I risked my life for a plastic emerald, and a note you left, most likely to rub it in.  
Asshole.  
-  
Dear Sonic. My worthiest of adversaries.  
If you are reading this, then you have won our little game. Right? Congratulations, because piece of mind is your only prize. That, and me dead, but did I really need to go on living anyway? The world surely wasn’t big enough for the both of us.  
Chaos emerald? What chaos emerald? Never seen one, but you seemed to be so sure I had one. I couldn’t disappoint you. Without exploiting this opportunity, of course.  
I hope you enjoy the replacement. I hope that fakerlives up to your standards, at least. I assure you, it won’t. An imposter never does. This is something I’ve been trying to get through to you for some time now.  
I bet you celebrated your little victory, didn’t you? Did that smug look just melt right off your face when you opened the box? My, what I would have given to see that!  
Oh, but that isn’t all, my dear friend. I’ve been working very hard for you. A little goodbye present, if you will. No, not just the pink emerald, silly. Something bigger. Something huge. Something very special, that I have taken care of in your name.  
And with me gone, it cannot be reversed. I can’t fall back, and take the blame for this because I no longer exist. Either way, my only advice is to watch who you talk to, and trust no one.  
With love.  
The ultimate life form.  
-  
Rage. Hatred. That fucker just had to have the last laugh.  
Asshole.  
On my way back to my apartment, everybody around me seems to be staring at me. Avoiding me. Crowds on the sidewalk part to let me pass.  
Eyes all over me, the sea of people parting before me. This is creeping me out. Immensely.  
Stop.  
What is this?  
A wall of digital pictures lines the glass before me from the other side. It’s a store that sells televisions, but the part that catches my attention is not a T.V.  
It’s what’s on it.  
Me.  
Not a sound can be heard from this side of the window. What about me? Why is my still image on the news channel?  
“There he is!”  
The caption scrolling at the bottom of the screen catches my glance.  
Wanted?  
Murder?!  
Oh, fuck.  
Look behind me to see the citizens making way for police officers.  
Pause  
Two options.  
1) Go to jail and plead my case.  
The cops pointing their guns at me, screaming incoherent nonsense. Perhaps I’m just not listening. A command, or something.  
Fuck it, who knows?  
There is probably something you should know before I go on.  
The media has been on my ass for quite some time now. They never liked me, but they needed me to save them from the evil scientist that threatened the planet for so long. They needed me. Robotniks dead now, and they no longer need me.  
So, every chance they get to try to use something against me, they jump at it.  
I think we all remember the Amy Rose sex tape scandal.  
Let’s not delve on that.  
But I’ve never been through anything like this. I can’t afford that good of a lawyer. Not anymore. Even if I could, I’m not entirely sure that they could get me out of something like this.  
It’s no good.  
They want my blood, and they want it now.  
My second option?  
Bail.  
Flip a bitch.  
Do what I do best.  
Run.  
They open fire, and bullets come from all directions. Closed in. Shut my eyes, and spin dash through a group of mobians. Open my eyes at the last moment to see the blood splattered pavement, and bits of fur, skin, and organs before me.  
No turning back now.  
Passed the point of no return.  
Fuck, what did I do that for?  
What the hell is wrong with me?  
Fear sets in, and I run faster than ever before.  
-  
Didn’t stop until reaching my apartment.  
Sanctuary.  
Had to wash the blood off me somewhere.  
Had to pull myself together somewhere.  
Splash water on my face. What’s happening?  
Can’t watch T.V.  
Can’t sleep.  
Too sick to eat.  
What now?  
A knock on my door. Oh, shit. Someone’s telling me to give up, and come out. The knocking continues, and it doesn’t take it long before it turns into a steady slamming. Thank god for having the urge to install a couple new locks on the door a few weeks ago. A key is trying to unlock the door. Fucking landlord. What a dick.  
They tell me to give up.  
Turn myself in. Throw my life away.  
Fuck that.  
Look at the window across the room. It doesn’t open, but it’s just glass. I’ve seen it work in movies. All the time.  
Charge the window, close my eyes, and


	5. Chapter 5

**Escape**  
Awake.  
But for how long?  
No, can't give up. Not yet.  
I think.  
Have to get out of here. Walls lock me in. Gauze wrapped around my face. The gauze is wet with blood. I’m pretty sure it’s critical for my health to stay in bed.  
Fuck my health.  
Yank the IV out of my arm, and force myself to my feet. Stumble to my knees, and the wall is my guide. Force myself to keep going. Push foreword.  
There’s a sharp utensil on the metal table next to my bed. Scalpel, I think it’s called. Pick it up, and stagger towards the door. Attempt to pull it open, but it’s heavy, and I’m weak. Force myself through a small opening.  
Things spin.  
Getting dizzy.  
The blood rushes from my face, and my head feels empty.  
Drained.  
Have to flee.  
Destination unknown.  
None of that matters.  
Escape.  
Flight.  
Salvation.  
Redemption.  
These words ring through my brain. There must be some sort of light at the end of this tunnel. Bad things like this don’t just happen to good people. Not the good guys.  
Where am I? This hospital is so huge it’s impossible to tell. This hall is pretty desolate, the security isn’t very tight for an individual such as myself.  
So dangerous.  
The underestimate me. Excellent.  
This gives me the upper hand.  
Where to now? Fuck it. Pick a direction, and try my best to stick with it. It may not lead to an exit, but it will lead to some kind of answer. To something.  
Hopefully.  
I’ll find out if this is the right way or not. We can be sure of that.  
Yet I still wonder. What brought me this far?  
And I still wonder. How will I survive?  
Do they still fear me, or do they hate me?  
Can I control this?  
I have this handled. I think.  
Questions ring through my head. Questions that beg answers that can’t be found. Hallways and corridors that all look the same.  
Where am I going? Will this take me to the destination that needs to be reached?  
What now? What comes next?  
Even if I could escape this place entirely, what could be done? Where could I go?  
Things don’t make sense anymore.  
Tired. Weak. Dizzy.  
A bathroom door beckons me. A temporary sanctuary. Push the door open, and stagger to the sink. Stare into the mirror image of my face, rather the bloody gauze wrapped around it.  
Rip it down with my hands.  
Oh god.  
My face.  
That’s me?  
What the fuck?  
My face looks like bloody hamburger meat. It’s swollen, and the expression refuses to change no matter how hard I try.  
My image makes me sick, and I run over to the urinal. Kneel before the standing toilet, and spew my insides into the lip.  
A creak from behind me.  
Puke again, but this time the side of the toilet is hit, and it runs down the wall onto the floor.  
Fuck.  
“Hey!”  
What?  
Look up from my puddle of throw up to see a guy standing by the door way behind me.  
Grip the scalpel tightly in my hand.  
It’s time.  
Primal instincts kick in.  
Fight or flight.  
Kill, or be arrested.  
No, not today.  
He tried to tell me I’m not supposed to be in here. This “doctor” tries to tell me I need to stay in bed. He approaches, and tries to help me up.  
I guess I look helpless.  
Pitiful.  
Weak.  
This is when I make my point, and drive it home.  
Right into his neck.  
Gurgles. Protest.  
Feeble attempts to hurt his attacker.  
Death.  
Silence.  
Fear.  
Loathing.  
Have to get out of here. Walls closing in. So are the cops.  
The bathroom is a mess that I would refuse to clean up even if I could. Walls and floor painted with blood and vomit.  
Make my way out of the bathroom. Push the door open with my open palm, leaving a bloody handprint on the wooden door.  
What did Shadow do?  
How did he do this to me?  
As much as I hate the fucker, I have to hand it to him. He really knows the mechanics of fucking someone hard, and without mercy, or lube.  
Make my way through the white maze. This bright labyrinth. I want to fall. Want to give up.  
Pass out.  
Die.  
There just HAS to be a light at the end of this tunnel.  
I’m the hero!  
Right?  
I’m the hero. I have to save the day.  
It’s my job.  
It’s what I have to do.  
It’s what I was created for.  
Suddenly, a male voice booms over the intercom.  
“We have an emergency in the males restroom in ward six.”  
Oh fuck.  
No more time to run around.  
I fucked up.  
Have to think about this logically. Find a door, and go through it.  
It’s a stock room. Cabinets filled with pills. There should be more security in this hospital.  
Open one of the cabinets, and open a sample pack of the strongest sounding painkillers I can find. Rip them from the plastic, and pop them into my mouth. Chew them up.  
Gosh, they taste horrible.  
Do my best to swallow, and look around frantically.  
A window of opportunity.  
Actually, just a window.  
Standing on my tip-toes underneath the window, I am barely able to reach it.  
Try to open it, but no dice.  
Fuck.  
I’m not jumping through glass again. Fuck that. Fuck movies, too.  
A stool in front of a desk. A metal stool.  
Perfect.  
This will require every bit of strength I can muster, but it must be done.  
Pick it up by the seat, and heave the stool around me. Fling the metal object at the window. The glass shatters, but the stool simply falls down back into the room with me.  
Set the stool back up, and stand on top of it. Force myself through the tiny window. Jagged glass jutting from the seal cuts through my skin as I pass.  
My eyes don’t open until it’s too late, and my weight has mingled with gravity out of my favor. Two stories up, and falling towards a pile of glass waiting for me on the ground below.  
Why don’t I think these things out more carefully?  
Shield my head with my arms, and brace for  
impact.

Laying face down in a pile of glass, deja vu hits me.  
Everything hurts.  
Footsteps advancing in my direction.  
Cant’ do shit.  
God, please just strike me down.  
The scalpel! There is a way out.  
Open my eyes, scanning the ground around me for the shiny metallic instrument.  
Can’t go back now.  
The scalpel sits three feet out of reach.  
Can’t move my arms.  
Shit, can’t move my legs either.  
Footsteps advancing,  
Nothing works.  
My body defies me, and I lay paralyzed.  
I have cotton mouth, and the painkillers haven’t even kicked in yet.  
And I swear to god, I can hear Shadow laughing at me.  
The end


End file.
